“No, ma’am, not exactly for preserves. But that barberry preserve—say, sis, we ain’t had any of that since about Christmas, have we?”
“You had some last Sunday night,” returned Aunt Mercy with asperity. “And I’ve a good mind not to give you any, if you can’t remember when you do have it!”
“Quite right, ma’am,” said Bee approvingly. “I think it would be good punishment if you just gave it to the rest of us. I’m sure I shan’t forget it, ma’am!”
Aunt Mercy regarded him severely. “Humph!” she said. “I cal’ate, young man, you don’t miss much in this world for want of a tongue in your head!” Whereupon, with a grim smile, she sailed out of the room.
Hal chuckled. “I guess that will hold you for awhile, old Bee!” Then, turning to Jack, “Did you say you had a telephone here?” he asked.
Jack shook his head. “No, but there’s one at Cottrell’s store, just over the hill. I’ll run over there, if you like, and tell your folks you’ll be home after supper.”
“What’s the matter with my going?” asked Hal. “Let me have your oilskin coat, Jack, and point out the way. I guess I ought to let father know I’m all right. He may be getting worried.”
The two boys went out, leaving Bee and Faith together in the quaint little low-ceilinged room. Bee looked about him with interest. “You’ve got an awfully comfortable home here, Miss Faith,” he said. “It’s so sort of old-fashioned and nice.”